Turning the Tables of Fate
by Here Lies the Abyss
Summary: Graves is hunting his enemy through the forest. When he finally catches him, though, Fate winds up goading him into letting his rage take over... [Sorry for the terrible title, in advance]


The afternoon was waning slowly, as the clear sky darkened with the coming of dusk. The Proving Grounds were empty as they always were, as the battleground had long since been abandoned in favor of the Howling Abyss. There were still remnants on the sandy path of former battles - scorch marks, bloodstains, even some footprints that the breeze hadn't yet blown away.

It was so rare to see anyone there that Graves had taken up the spot as a place to walk and clear his mind. The gruff man had just finished a grueling battle on Summoner's Rift, one that he'd lost despite putting in his best efforts for what seemed like hours. Sweat made his shaggy brown hair cling to his forehead, and his rugged clothing was torn and stained with dark reminders of his numerous painful encounters.

And thus he wasn't in the best of moods as he limped through the forest alongside the lane path, muttering to himself. "'Fuckin Malzahar... Man doesn't know how to hold his damn lane without help every two seconds." He cleared his throat and spit out to one side, grimacing as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. His gun felt heavier than usual in his hands, even though he'd gone through countless shells in the lengthy fight. Graves groaned, hefting the weapon over his shoulder as he made his way through the trees.

His thoughts turning to what he ought to make for dinner, the Outlaw was about to start singing an old tavern song to himself when he heard a sound from the bushes. He froze, reflexively looking around for any of his allies, before he remembered he wasn't in a battle any longer. Who else could be out here, though? As far as he knew, Graves was the only one who ventured out to the Proving Grounds regularly any more.

He slowly approached the group of bushes from where the sound had come from. Reaching out cautiously, he lunged forward with surprisingly catlike agility towards the bushes, parting them as he looked around sharply for anyone who might've been there. But there was no one. Could he have been hearing things?

And then a scent reached his nostrils - a familiar, masculine cologne, sweet with a hint of spicyness. He tried to place it, to no avail. But then, a voice echoed behind his ear, and the puzzle suddenly fit together.

"Well 'lookie here. Seems I caught myself a Malcolm." The husky tone could only belong to one person. "What're you 'doin all the way out here, partner?"

Graves slowly turned around to face the man behind him. There stood Twisted Fate, wearing a tattered brown coat, his cowboy hat askew on his head just enough to obscure his eyes. But Graves could see a smirk on his long-time rival's face, and that was enough to make his blood boil.

"Ain't none of your business what I'm doing out here," he spat, hefting his gun. Twisted casually shuffled a deck that he was holding, the silver-backed cards falling from one of his hands to the other.

"Come on now, no need to be so bitter, sunshine. Was 'watchin the work you did earlier - some damn fine work it was, too," the gypsy purred, scuffing the heels of one of his boots against the ground.

"'Watchin?" Graves repeated dryly. "Ought to spend less of your time 'spyin and more time 'trainin, card boy. Your sorry ass could sure use it."

Twisted Fate snickered softly. "Simmer down, hotshot. Say, how 'bout you and I go for a drink together, relive old ti-"

"You got 'somethin you want from me, just say it, piece of shit!" Graves interrupted with a snarl, his dark eyes narrowed in a glare. He didn't trust the man for a second, not even when they were fighting on the same team. And right now, he certainly was in no mood to banter.

"Fine." The card master sighed, holding one hand up, deck stacked in his other palm. "Malcolm, I kinda hate to do it this way, but..." Graves watched as Twisted Fate shuffled through his deck, pulling out a single card. Its back was up, so he couldn't tell which one it was. The gypsy twirled the card in his hand, and Graves found himself mesmerized for a moment.

And then Twisted Fate turned the card over, long enough for Graves to catch a glimpse. "'Shinin gold," he declared with a roguish grin, and before the outlaw had time to react, the card flew towards him and hit his chest, vanishing into a shower of golden sparks.

"Nngn-" The sensation of being stunned was a familiar one to Graves, and yet something about Twisted Fate's cards felt... different. A shiver ran down his form as he stood frozen, a delicious tingle that felt like all of the drugs and alcohol in the world combined into one single rush. Graves couldn't lift a finger as Twisted gently pressed him down into the grass, rolling his shotgun off to one side and out of reach.

"Lucky you." The card dealer removed his hat and tossed it to land on Graves' shotgun, his long hair falling about his scruffy, gaunt face, his beard looking a little less kempt than usual. His eyes, two steel blue orbs, gazed down at Graves with a heavily lidded stare, dangerous intent in their depths.

"F-fuck you, you lousy son of a bitch," the outlaw stammered as he regained control of his senses, though by that time Twisted Fate was on top of him, straddling him. Despite the fact that the other man wasn't a melee or ranged fighter, Graves had always noticed his physique - if he wanted to carry a sword like Garen's or an axe like Darius', he'd surely have no problem at all. He was lean, but still quite muscular, and Graves found himself taken aback at how easily he was being pinned down.

But that didn't mean Graves was going down easy. He grunted, summoning all of his strength, grabbing Twisted by his biceps and forcing him down and to the side. He'd almost managed to straddle the taller, lankier man when the gypsy pushed roughly back against him, causing Graves to roll off on his side. They grappled with each other, grass and leaves getting stuck in Twisted Fate's messy, longer hair. It seemed as though they could keep tussling until sundown, when suddenly Twisted Fate went slack. Graves quickly pinned him down, keeping his arms above his head.

He blinked when he realized the other man was still wearing a smirk. "The hell you smiling at, filthy card-hurler?" he snarled down at Twisted Fate.

"Ah, Malcolm...this is always how I imagined it going. 'Gettin you all spitfire and then 'havin you go all rough on me. Almost as good as the other way 'round..." The gypsy sighed, shifting a little under Graves' weight. "You're too damn strong, though."

The outlaw blinked. Was this the real Twisted Fate? The man was always catty, but he'd always assumed the hatred between them, despite the begrudging mutual admiration, would mean they'd never make contact out of the battlefield. But here the card dealer was, trying to get fresh with him. It wasn't as if Graves hadn't looked at his rival now and then with something beyond mere dislike - his form was tempting, his cockiness so perfect to crush into the ground... And here they were, in the perfect position for Graves to take advantage of the lankier male.

"So what're you gonna do, cowboy?" Twisted Fate's husky, amused tone stirred Graves from his thoughts. His hair was strewn behind his head like a dark pillow. He gave a testing push against Graves' grip, but the outlaw roughly pushed his hands back against the ground. "You gonna give into what you know you wanna do? Or are you gonna act like a sweet little girl and let me go?" His taunting words echoed in Graves' mind, which was already frazzled from his long fight earlier. Normally he would've been able to brush off the man's comment, but at that moment, each word stung like a thorn.

"I'm gonna make you squirm like the 'fuckin whore you are." Graves' dark eyes gleamed wildly, a rush of adrenaline flowing through him. His normal wry composure was nowhere to be found. Right now, he felt more like a beast than a man, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He started to rip open the buttons on Twisted Fate's coat, baring his sparsely haired chest. The gypsy let out a soft cry as Graves bent down to bite at his exposed collarbone, hard enough to leave a lasting mark. "Fucking - you ruined the coat," the card master gasped, placing his hands on Graves' shoulder with a weak push, but it was clear from his lack of effort that he enjoyed his position more than he implied. The outlaw shifted to nip at the other man's throat, leaving wet marks along his pale, quickly reddening flesh.

The reaction he got was a series of increasingly heated moans from the other man, the wiry Fate writhing beneath him. Graves lowered one hand, letting his fingers creep down beneath the hem of Twisted's trousers. He soon found what he was looking for - a quickly hardening shaft, a drop of precum bubbling at the tip. It throbbed in Graves' hand as the outlaw gripped it firmly, grinding his thumb over the head, and the half-nude man beneath him let out a throaty howl that echoed through the forest.

"Better 'fuckin pray that we're the only ones here, else you may have some 'explainin to do later," Graves hissed into the other male's ear, taking the lobe between his teeth with a teasing pull. He grabbed the hem of Twisted's pants and pulled them down roughly, throwing them over where the shotgun and hat lay discarded a few feet away. By now, the gypsy's chest was heaving, his breath coming in excited pants, and Graves felt his own blood racing.

He reached out again, grabbing a handful of Twisted Fate's hair, pulling his head up. "Nnh-! Don't pull it all out, you bas-"

"You've got a mighty pretty mouth, Fate, but you never 'fuckin shut up. So let's fix that." Graves lowered a hand to his own waistband, undoing his belt with a swift motion and pulling down his zipper. He felt hot all over, like Brand had just hit him with a fireball, and he wanted to simultaneously kill this man before him and fuck his brains out. Graves wasn't a cruel man, even though he had his cold moments. Now wasn't one of those moments - he felt alive, awoken from the slump that he'd fallen into. It was his one chance to establish his dominance over his rival, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't take it.

Graves pulled out his cock, the hard flesh slick with pre, glistening as he guided Twisted's head over to the tip. The other man let out a muffled sound of apparent discomfort as Graves pressed the wet head of his shaft to Twisted's lips, but soon he opened his mouth to let the invading member inside. It felt warm, wet; surprisingly soft, despite all the harsh words Graves had heard coming from that mouth. He pushed inch by inch further inside, until Twisted choked a little around the shaft - the sudden tightening of his throat causing Graves to groan.

The card dealer's pale blue eyes gleamed up at Graves, a desperate and heated look in them as he bobbed his head on the fat length in his mouth, precum dripping down his chin. The sight made something deep inside of Graves stir, some dark arousal that he didn't even knew existed. He hated this man, hated his guts with so much passion that it was almost like a perverted form of love. And here his enemy was, gagging on his cock like a paid whore, working into his own rhythm without Graves even forcing his head down.

Bolts of pleasure coursed down the outlaw's spine, his shaft feeding more precum into Twisted's mouth, coating his tongue. Graves knew he couldn't handle a great deal more of this without losing control of himself. He pulled his shaft free of the other man's lips, and Twisted gasped for air as he was allowed to properly breathe once more, his chin a mess of pre and his own saliva.

"Down on your back like a good boy," Graves growled, pushing his rival into the grass once more.

"You're kinda 'fuckin big," Twisted muttered weakly, eyeing the thick shaft dangling between Graves' legs, knowing full well what the other man's intent was.

"Maybe you should've thought of that before y'tried to jump me." Graves grinned broadly, grasping Twisted's thighs and lifting them up, so that his rear was raised in the air and the tight, lightly haired pucker between his cheeks just barely visible. The gypsy reached his hands above his head, grasping at the leaves as if they were bedsheets, biting his lip in apprehension.

Graves had to tear his eyes away from Twisted's, as the sight of the normally arrogant man in such a nervous state made him almost hesitate. He rubbed the damp head of his cock against the other male's entrance, his shaft slick with Twisted's own saliva. Without allowing himself a moment to rethink his choice, Graves started to press his swollen cockhead past that taut ring, stretching the poor hole to fit his girth.

Twisted yelped, pain coursing through his voice - a sound Graves had heard plenty before, although always in the context of battle. The wiry man writhed on the ground, his erect shaft sticking to his abdomen with a thick bead of sticky fluid, eyes tightly shut. But Graves didn't stop. He pushed forward more, inch by inch, letting his weight sink his hefty shaft into the tight hole that was clenching around it. It felt like ages, but finally he hilted himself, his hefty balls grinding against poor Twisted's rear.

"Fuck...fucking big," the gypsy whimpered, gritting his teeth. Despite his protests, his stretched entrance hungrily took in the shaft that was filling it, clinging to every inch of the wet length. Graves sucked in a breath, the tightness practically painful, and he began to draw out a few laborious inches - only to thrust back in again, ramming deep inside the other male and causing him to cry out again.

The outlaw began to settle into a rhythm, rolling his hips forward to spear Fate on his cock, grinding up into him, and pulling back just enough so that his abused entrance had to stretch around the fat head of Graves' shaft once more. It took some time for Twisted to adjust, but the man was tough; before long, his yelps turned towards throaty moans, as even the remaining pain was pleasurable in its own way. Graves leaned over him, licking the stickiness off his chin, crushing his lips to the other male's in a wet, fierce kiss. It was sloppy, their tongues clashing and lips parting at intervals with wet sounds, only to grind back together again.

The gypsy's walls, already wet with Graves' precum, clenched about the thick cock as it bumped that sweet bundle of nerves within Fate. They both caught their breath, and another thrust from Graves caused Twisted to suddenly hit his climax. He cried out, muffling himself by biting the burlier man's shoulder. As he clenched again around the throbbing cock buried inside of him, the sensation grew to be too much for Graves, as well. He held on as long as he could, but soon he had to let go.

With a hefty thrust, Graves froze in bliss, his shaft beginning to shoot wave after wave of thick seed into Fate. It soon grew to be so much that it dripped out around the long-haired man's entrance, forced out with every fresh thrust. The outlaw kept rolling his hips forward, pounding his cum deep within Twisted, as if to claim and mark every inch of him.

He soon began to slow, though, feeling a sluggishness overtake the sensation of ecstasy that'd dulled all his other senses. Fate was still panting, his face buried against Graves' neck, arms about his waist. Their bodies were both coated in sweat, pressed tightly together, and the darkness of evening had slowly settled upon them.

"You never slept with a man before, did you?" Graves whispered roughly into Twisted's ear, rocking his hips a little and causing the other man to exhale a heated breath.

"I don't do...do that shit, Malcolm." The gypsy shivered. "I didn't think you'd want to do this... Thought I'd have to take you."

"I don't do this shit either," Graves muttered, pressing his face against the bruising skin on Twisted's neck. "Just wanted to wipe that smug 'fuckin grin off your face." He stroked his thumb along Fate's bottom lip.

"You achieved your damn goal, okay? Now don't be an ungentlemanly son of a bitch, Malcolm, and take me home with you before someone sees us together." Twisted's words made Graves blink - the man wanted more of him? He was shocked, but... pleasantly surprised.

"Carry you like the 'fuckin woman you are now," the outlaw offered with a smirk, slowly drawing his shaft out of Twisted and watching as his thick seed began to ooze out onto the grass from between the other man's muscular thighs. He slipped his arms beneath Fate, only to toss the lanky man over one shoulder. "Gotta have a spare hand for m'gun and your hat." Twisted gave a halfhearted struggle before relaxing over the burlier man's shoulder, muttering to himself.

Graves limped over to where his shotgun was lying, hefting it now with one hand, quite easily at that. He set Fate's hat atop his head, a comical sight considering his nudity, and he snickered. "Shut up, kid. Let's have a game of strip poker later, loser gets fucked by the winner." Twisted offered a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Sure, I'll play a card game with the hustler, that sounds like it can't go wrong," Graves replied dryly, resting his gun down for a moment to deliver a solid smack against Fate's rear with his hand, eliciting a light yelp from the man. "Come up with any more stupid ideas and I'll shut you up again with my cock in your face."

Feeling oddly buoyant, Graves grinned to himself as he started carrying his gun and Twisted in the direction of his house - the two most important items in his possession.


End file.
